Danse Macabre
by Beth0987
Summary: Because noone said necromancy was nice. And because Faust, among other things, is insane. WARNING: Dark themes and fairly graphic descriptions


Discalimer: I do not own Shaman King or any of the characters.

This is my first Shaman King fic, and it is not nice. There is a warning for dark themes and fairly graphic descriptions.

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The graveyard soil was slippery under Faust's feet as he made his way up the slope. It had been raining almost continuously since he had arrived here a week ago, and the abandoned house he was staying in had so many leaks in the roof he might as well have been sleeping in the garden. The only dry corner was covered in piles of paper, documents that must be kept dry at all times. It didn't matter. He would be moving on tomorrow, before the town became too suspicious of him.

A damp root concealed in the mud twisted round his foot, and he stumbled forward, grabbing the nearest thing for support. It was a branch, smothered with moss, cold and slimy. Thick green liquid squelched between his fingers and clung to his hand.

He hadn't really needed to come here tonight; he would regret it later when he had to dry out his clothes. Since he'd started actually using his necromancy, though- it was a compulsion. He knew if he hadn't come he'd have just sat at home biting his nails and rereading over and over all the papers he had from Faust I.

He was getting better at it. At first the skeletons he tried to summon would just turn over in their coffins, maybe shake the ground a little. He couldn't see them, but he could feel it. He was sinking deeper and deeper into the world of skeletons. After a few frustrating weeks, he got enough power to break the skeletons out of the coffins and dirt, but all he got for his trouble was a heap of bones and a broken grave. He had to move around, because eventually even the most unobservant town begins to notice the disturbed soil, cracked gravestones. This was his last night here, before he headed north for the last time. He was going to make it a good show.

He had worked on controlling the skeletons for nearly two years now. Most of the papers from Faust I he knew by heart, but he still carried them around everywhere with him. They were the last chance he had of getting Eliza back, and he had to grab it with both hands.

He reached the top of the hill, and stared at the small cluster of graves overlooking the small town. One of them caught his attention- it was newer than the others, and had a bunch of fresh yellow tulips lying on it, tied with a bright blue ribbon, darkened slightly by the rain. He could feel the body rotting underneath. Common sense screamed at him to use one of the older graves, one where it was less likely to be noticed, but he was morbidly fascinated to see if his power would work as well with a corpse, instead of a skeleton.

He felt the corpse move, twist in its coffin. He pulled up, and it exploded out of the ground in a shower of mud and oak splinters. He felt one of them graze his cheek, leaving a dark smudge of blood on his face, indistinguishable from the coating of dirt.

It was horrifying, even for him. Most of the skin had rotted away from the bones, leaving gaping holes in the ribcage and showing wasted muscle tissue tied to yellowing bones, but scraps still clung to the face and shoulders, showing where her features had melted into the mass of decaying flesh that was now her face. There was a mass of stringy red hair hanging limply against her spine, and around her waist and neck the remains of what must have once been a fine dress, and the glint of a silver crucifix. The reek was overpowering.

Faust raised a hand, and the corpse stood at attention, bones clattering together in a deceptively merry jangle. Idly he made her dance around the graveyard, scraps of skirt and loose skin flying out around the bones. She span around the gravestones, ducked lightly under the tree branches, skipped over graves undisturbed for centuries. For what felt like hours he was half-hypnotised by the movement, making her go faster and faster, hair flying out behind her and the scraping of bone on bone an accompaniment to the silent song. One raised hand brushed a stone cross, leaving a dark streak of gore.

Faust dropped his hand to his side in disgust. The corpse instantly fell to the ground in a graceless heap, bones mixing with the graveyard dirt. She was just a puppet. For all her fancy moves and style, it was what he had given her. He would always be the master of the dance. It wasn't good enough, but it was close. Close enough for him to be ready. He smiled, but there was no real happiness in it.

He carefully settled the corpse back in the remains of the coffin and began the long task of filling in the hole he had left. He shovelled the soil back in with his hands, longing to summon another skeleton to help him with the work. Mud was caked thickly up to his elbows. He scrubbed desperately at his arms, trying wildly to rid himself of the stink of graveyards and death for even a little while, but he knew it was hopeless. Finally the grave was filled and returned as close as he could get it to the same position, the flowers replaced. One of the stems had been bruised, and the bright flower was hanging limply sideways. He removed it from the bunch, making them look almost as glossy and new as before, except for the tiny splatters of dark mud speckling the yellow petals. Absently, he tucked the broken flower into his hat and stood up. There was only one job left to do. He began to search for the splinters of the coffin, which might tip off the townspeople something wasn't right. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the foresight to bring a lantern and had to grope around in the dark on his hands and knees, getting even more covered in the thick, choking mud. Just as the first pre-dawn light began creeping over the horizon, he found the last of the wooden fragments.

He stood up to leave when something gleamed at the corner of his eye. He turned to look, and found himself staring into a pair of wide, terrified eyes. A boy, about sixteen or seventeen, was crouched in the bushes by the edge of the graveyard, mostly hidden by a massive tree. There was a small bunch of flowers clutched in one hand.

Faust's heart skipped with fear, but he forced himself to stay calm. There was a strong chance this boy hadn't seen anything. But he could see from the ghostly pallor of the boy's face and the way he stood up so stiffly, he had probably been in that position all night.

'You...' The boy's mouth moved, but he seemed to be unable to say anything else. Finally, after what felt like an age of silence, he spoke again.

'You... you... That was my mother!' Suddenly the boy rushed towards Faust, but his legs were still cramped from being in the same postition and he fell about a foot from Faust's boots. The boy made no move to stand up; he lay curled in the mud. His red hair was a flaming contrast to the grey-brown soil.

'You… I'll tell the priest, I'll tell him what you've done and they'll get you, you won't get far, you... My mother!' There were tears running down the boy's face, leaving clean tracks in the filth streaked on his face.

The boy was going to tell the priest. Then he would be caught, and he would never get to Eliza. She was so close now, only a day's walk to the north of here... He could imagine her waiting for him. If he was caught now, she'd never get her life back; the one that was stolen from her.

He knew what he had to do.

The boy didn't notice the skeleton hands rising out of the ground until they were wrapped around his ankles, dragging him into the soil. He looked down, and a look of absolute terror filled his face. He looked pleadingly up at Faust, but Faust already knew this was the right- the only- thing to do.

As the boy's lungs were slowly crushed by the weight of the soil, Faust turned to leave the graveyard. The boy had left no mark on the ground's surface, and there was no reason anyone should know there were two bodies in the same grave. It was a fitting death for the boy, whoever he was.

He had threatened Eliza, and Faust would do anything for her.


End file.
